


Split the Night

by MaraudingManaged



Series: Musical Maraudings [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, I mean it, M/M, Mostly Unrequited Love, Not A Fix-It, Slow Romance, canon character death, no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 00:09:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18509920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaraudingManaged/pseuds/MaraudingManaged
Summary: As each year passes, they move ever closer to the dark. It's all they can do to hang on, and anchor themselves to the only semblance of sanity they can find in the world of the Dark Lord's service.Each other.





	Split the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it is I! 
> 
> It's that SMaR time again! I had the choice of one character, Regulus Black, and picked the song 'The Sound of Silence' by Simon and Garfunkel (though I'm not going to lie, the Disturbed version factored HEAVILY into my interpretation). I was given a selection of characters by our marvellous modmins, and I chose Remus Lupin (colour you fucking shocked, right? MM picked a Marauder.) 
> 
> NOTICE: I AM A JUDGE FOR VOLUME 3 OF SMaR AND SO YOU CANNOT VOTE FOR THIS FIC - HENCE MY UNCOVERED NAME. THIS WAS WRITTEN FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES, AND BECAUSE I AM A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT. This is also why I've basically thrown the wordcount out of the window - because I don't count and I wanted to tell my whole story :) It just wouldn't be cut! 
> 
> SHOUT OUT: Many thanks to my stalwart and true Alpha-Beta-Cheerleader, ShootingDaggers, who has poked, prodded, and checked this fic for me. And also encouraged my procrastination.

 

 **  
**Hello darkness, my old friend **  
****I've come to talk with you again  
**   


_His head collides with the rim of the deep clawfoot bath that is, to his knowledge at least, fifty or so years older than he is. His body slides down to a heap on the floor as the watery, thin moonlight streams through the crack in the heavy, ancient blinds that are mostly drawn - but for the chink where they just don’t quite line up alongside the wall that, despite all spells, age has begun to warp._

_A Horcrux._

_The Dark Lord had made a twatting Horcrux and used his own elf to store it away from prying eyes and thieving fingers._

_Regulus Black knocks his head hard against the curved rim of the cast-iron bath. Bastard. Bastard, bastard, bastard._

_The Dark Lord had sworn his elf to secrecy, but Kreacher’s loyalty was not to be sold to him, even as his body was - by the unwitting, torn boy Regulus was only a month ago, desperate to hide his tracks. Now, the poor mite is a shade of his former self - oh, still performing his duties, Regulus acknowledges with a twist of his mouth - but he is darker now. His mood is low, tortured._

_He’s already long abandoned the Dark Lord’s ideas, but now he would happily piss on the wizard’s grave. Which, if he draws enough luck to him, he intends to do - in a roundabout way, anyway._

_Regulus closes his eyes, and reaches over his head to turn on the tap to a slow trickle. The water clatters against the metal, an echo bouncing freely around the cavernous dark of the bathroom. Only in the darkness can he formulate his thoughts in such a way as to be able to put them on paper at all - let alone to the one man he’s somehow ended up dedicating his endeavours, and his heart, to. But in the bathroom he finds the solitude and peace he requires to write, and some degree of security that his mother won’t swan in and ask him what in Merlin’s name he’s doing._

_Still, slowly the words come to him. There’s a self-inking quill and a footlong roll of parchment in his robe pocket that he draws out. In a hesitant move he places the parchment on the floor before him and begins to sketch out the words that stick in his throat but beg to be expressed regardless._

_It is strange, he muses as he writes. He finds the prospect of leaving a smart-arse note to the Dark Lord far less intimidating than the one he is writing now._

 

* * *

**Because a vision softly creeping** ****  
**Left its seeds while I was sleeping**  
****

Remus Lupin had always been on his periphery. He was the least irritating of his brother’s friends - quiet, generally unassuming, but also the least-inclined to act in any way which might prevent Sirius, Potter, and Pettigrew in their stupid machinations.

He had also been a bone of contention for Severus Snape for far longer than Regulus Black cared to be interested in - despite the fact that the lonesome boy had made a habit of drawing him into conversation about the self-styled ‘Marauder’ on far too many occasions for Regulus’ liking.

“I am telling you, Reg, there’s something about him.”

“Really, Severus? It’s not even two weeks into the new school year, for Merlin’s sake! Let us get settled before we start with the conspiracy theories, hmm?” He didn’t look up at his friend, instead making detailed notes in the margin of his Standard Book of Spells in precise lines. Regulus would have rather heard him mooning over the mudblood Evans than about the new Gryffindor Prefect, who Sev was absolutely certain was hiding something sinister.

“...He disappears every month with every excuse you’ve ever heard, some even half-repeated, and gets off with it no matter what!” His usual drawl was punctuated by a nasal, northern lilt he tried very hard to disguise with darker, smooth tones.

“So… what you’re saying is he’s a werewolf, correct?” Regulus rolled his eyes. “Dumbledore might be a mad old coot but he wouldn’t let a werewolf roam free about Hogwarts, and he certainly wouldn’t make one a Prefect. Honestly, Sev, you appear to be going off the deep end when you go on these silly rants.” Regulus closed the book he was reading with an air of finality as he met his friend’s eyes. “I promise you, no-one cares about Lupin unless they’ve been a victim of a _delightful_ prank at his hands, or they need some advice. You’ve said it yourself: he spends more time holding office hours for the Houses than the Heads combined. I firmly expect he’ll be Head Boy in a couple of years’ time, if you don’t get it.”

Severus stalled, not entirely used to being called out on his diatribes, and then shut his mouth as a pink tinge dusted his sallow cheeks.

“You never know.” He muttered.

Yet Regulus found himself watching the boy only a year older than he - sandy hair, olive eyes, a dusting of freckles like the stars across the bridge of his nose, and a spattering of scars that seemed an inconsistent mix of silvery etchings and fresh slashes.

He shuddered because he knew - he’d _heard_ from his mother and his father and his cousin Bella - about the atrocities committed by the packs tearing across England in the name of a phantom in the shadows promising power and glory. To be a werewolf was to be a monster. He hated to think that Severus was right, but he charted the boy’s health month after month from October until February. Following in the shadows, he observed the cycles of the older boy’s condition: noticing how his demeanor and physical health waned; watching as he was escorted to the Whomping Willow on the grounds; listening to the howls from somewhere in the distance on the nights of the full moon. Carefully, he noted down each and every symptom he saw and lined them up with a lunar calendar - until he was certain. Until there was no doubt.

 _Werewolf_.

His initial reaction - once the wave of vague nausea over the image of the seemingly innocent, gangly youth turning into a raving, drooling monster passed -  was to scoff. Of bloody _course_ Dumbledore allowed a werewolf into Hogwarts. Of _course_ he kept it a secret from the student body. Of _course_ he was one of Sirius’ best friends - because his brother collected trouble like Chocolate Frog cards. They weren’t even slightly subtle about it, in their group of friends. ‘Furry little problem’, Regulus had heard them jokingly address their friend’s monthly change. ‘Moony’, they delightfully nicknamed him. They even had their own names: Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail.

It wasn’t sly. It wasn’t even _that_ clever. Regulus had seen a strange entourage of animals lurking around the forest together in the last few months after Christmas, and he was certain that his ridiculous fucking brother and his mates had somehow managed to become animagi at 15 and 16 years old. It was stupidity and it was _dangerous_ but he assumed the Headmaster probably bloody knew, and he was certain McGonagall would be able to smell it on them from the minute they’d mastered the change.

But Regulus, unlike his skulking friend and his vagabond brother, was disinclined to court disaster unless he had no other choice. He was one to hedge his bets, and on this occasion it didn’t seem prudent to out the boy to the entirety of the castle’s populace. If he was a member of the pack, it was likely indeed that he might be interested in the man fashioning himself a Dark Lord so that he would no longer have to live in secret and in poverty, and Regulus was never one to turn down a potentially fruitful connection.

But still - a werewolf. There was a werewolf in the castle, and it’s name - his name - was Remus Lupin.

“Well, fuck.” Regulus whispered into the dark night of the February full moon, before returning in the shadows to the Slytherin common room. He needed to come up with a plan.

* * *

**And the vision that was planted in my brain** ****  
**Still remains** **  
** **Within the sound of silence**

 

Regulus took his time before approaching Lupin one quiet evening in the library in early March, full to the brim with 5th and 7th year students revising for mock OWLs and NEWTs that would be scattered throughout the month before the Easter holidays.

“D’you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full, and I can’t get a moment’s peace in the common room.” Regulus asked, voice low, and Lupin’s head darted up, his green eyes wide and mouth - lips chapped from the chewing he constantly seemed to do - slightly parted. He stared at Regulus for almost a full minute before a hot flush seemed to capture his face and neck, and he dipped his head down until his expression was hidden by his sweeping fringe.

“Oh! Erm, yeah. Go for it.” He gestured to the chair opposite on the small desk, hand shaking slightly. Regulus sat down in the worn chair, shrugged off his outer robe, and rolled up his shirt sleeves to the elbow.

A silent gesture. A necessary gesture. _Please, trust me._

Regulus pulled out his notes from Potions to begin his essay on the comparative benefits of the Invigoration Draught and Girding Potion, feeling the eyes of the boy opposite him burning on his forearms for some time. He made no comment, certainly not upon the strange way Lupin had reacted, except for a whispered apology when he knocked the table, causing Lupin’s quill to quaver on his parchment. When the Librarian called out her warning that it was almost curfew, Regulus quietly packed his things away and nodded once to Lupin before heading off in the gloom of the castle towards the dungeons.

He began a routine, then. Most nights, except for Wednesdays when it was Quidditch practice and Sundays when Sirius and the rest of his merry gang crowded around Lupin to leech from his not inconsiderable intellect, Regulus and Remus - Lupin -  would sit in the quiet and work together - rarely speaking except to greet one another, apologise for some movement or another, or to bid farewell.

The further he got into March, the quieter and more gaunt Remus became; to the point he barely managed to nod a greeting and weakly wave in farewell. Regulus felt a strange pang at seeing the boy look so unwell; it was less obvious from the Slytherin table, but up close Lupin looked at death’s door.

“You should go to bed - or to the hospital wing. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

Remus - _Lupin_ , Reg corrected in his head with a wince - met his eyes with a tired grimace. “No, I’m alright. Er - thanks, though.”

“Liar.” Regulus raised an eyebrow, and Remus coughed out a startled laugh before biting into his fist.

“Do you know how much like Sirius you look when you do that?” Remus wheezed, and he snorted delicately as he turned a page in his textbook. Regulus _did_ in fact know - quite well - that he and his brother had some similar mannerisms. They’d driven their mother to drink on more than one occasion with some carefully planned double act or another - though that had stopped the minute Sirius had gone to Hogwarts.

“As much as Sirius would rather forget it, we are brothers.” He said smoothly, and then paused, his mouth opening to blurt words he hadn’t authorised it to. “I don’t suppose you would… I mean…” Regulus trailed off, heat burning in his chest, on his face, his pulse roaring in his ears.

Remus’ - _Lupin’s_ , damnit - features softened, and he leaned over the desk a little. “He’s okay, Reg. Christmas was… Christmas,” Remus hesitated, and then glanced around. “Is that why you started sitting with me? To ask…”

“I couldn’t stop it! They locked me out of the room and I didn’t realise - I didn’t _know_!” Regulus swore, and frowned at this turn of conversation which had gone entirely in a direction he hadn’t wanted it to. Remus offered a sad smile, tiredness making the creases at the corners of his eyes appear more deep-set.

“I know. We… Sirius… He doesn’t blame you. Not really. I think he’d rather it have been him than you, even though he’d never say it. He’s a stubborn git like that.”

“It’s better if he did blame me. It’d keep him safer.” Regulus said bitterly. “I presume you’ve heard what they wanted him to do?”

Silence hung between them, heavy and ominous, before Remus nodded curtly. Regulus ran a hand through his hair, the dark curls catching between his fingers and pulling the strands at the root.

“It’ll be you next, won’t it?” Regulus said nothing, and Remus reached out with a swift hand to grab his wrist, grip surprisingly tight for a boy so pale and drawn. “You don’t have to do it, you know.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie, don’t we?” Regulus fixed his gaze on Lupin’s, and sharp understanding flashed across them. “Sirius had an out. A safe place. We don’t have that, do we Lupin?”

His hand darted away as if burned by the words through to his bones, chapped lips parting. Regulus saw every muscle in his body tense, ready to run. Instead, Regulus reached into his bag and drew out a vial of a potion he had worked on with Slughorn the previous Sunday, and slid it across the table until it came to a stop against Remus’ Defence tome.

“It’s a mix of invigoration, vita-mix and pepper-up. Should get you through the worst, and it won’t interact with anything Pomfrey gives you.” Regulus shrugged his robes back on from their customary place over the back of his chair, and packed his bag away. Remus remained stock-still, eyes flickering between Regulus and the potion bottle in suspicion and fear. “It won’t hurt you, you know,” he chuckled, and then stood. “I expect I shan’t see you tomorrow, or the day after. But a word of warning to you all, if you’ll take it for what it is.”

“What?” Remus croaked, and Regulus felt another stirring of pity for the boy.

“Severus is on to you. He’s a dog with a bone, Lupin, and he’ll stop at nothing if he thinks it’ll get him some accolade or another, or some knowledge others don’t have. He’d use it and hang it over your head like a guillotine.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

The question was far more hopeful than Regulus deserved, and he sighed as he lifted his satchel onto his shoulder. “That remains to be seen, I suppose. I’ll see you later, Lupin. You’ll want to drink that directly, if you want the best effects from it. Tell me if it works, and I’ll brew you some more.”

Regulus left the library at a leisurely stroll - but not before glancing back to see the wizard - werewolf - down the potion in one go.

He grinned outright at the note that arrived at breakfast the next morning, in a shaky hand that was still unmistakable after weeks of staring at it across a table and a wall of books.

 _I don’t know what was in that potion, but it helped. More than anything ever has before._  
_I owe you, you arse._ _  
_                              RL

 

* * *

**In restless dreams I walked alone** ****  
**Narrow streets of cobblestone** ****  
**'Neath the halo of a street lamp** **  
** **I turned my collar to the cold and damp**

“I hate OWLs.” Regulus laid his head on the desk, uncaring that ink from his quill was seeping into the skin of his fingers. A migraine was blooming across the right side of his head, sending stabs of pain towards his eye and jaw, his arm and thigh becoming numb.

“I hate 6th year exams. There’s no bloody point to them, but here we are.” Remus groused from across the table, flicking with vicious swipes between pages of the three different textbooks that lay before him.

“Sirius dared to ask why you’ve been spending most nights for the last year in the library with his little brother?” Regulus asked, eyes closed to ward off the pounding at his temple. He’d taken his pain potion, but it would take longer than he liked to work. Darkness and silence would make it work quicker, but it didn’t seem that it was an option for him tonight. It had become less and less of an option as the days, weeks, months ticked by in their dusty corner of the library.

“Nope.”

“Coward.”

“Yep.” Remus popped his lips, and Regulus tried not to imagine the pursed shape they would be making. “Has Snape?”

“Of course he has. I’ve told him to fuck off, obviously. Speaking of my brother - forgiven him yet for last summer?”

Remus snorted, an indelicate sound. “Mostly.”

“More fool you. He was a twat for putting you at risk.”

“What about Snape? He was at more risk than I was.”

“Severus is big enough and ugly enough to look after himself, and well you know it. Honestly, it was precisely what he needed, if you would like me to be entirely honest.”

Remus barked out a laugh before covering it up with a cough, and Regulus felt gleeful even in his spite. Making Remus Lupin laugh was a rare thing, and it created a curious flutter in his stomach every time.

Silence, again. There was less silence then than a year ago, but it was still more prominent between them than words were. It was beginning to irritate Regulus - in a number of ways - but he fought down the feeling deep into the box he usually kept it locked within. It would be incredibly inconvenient for his… inclinations towards the werewolf become clear this close to the full moon.

Still, he couldn’t help but prod and poke. A flustered, inarticulate Remus was his favourite Remus.

“Why have you never had a girlfriend, Lupin?”

A sahara tone greeted him in response, and Regulus’ lips twitched in a faint smirk. “Questions that have an obvious answer, I present to you: that one.”

“You are truly hilarious. An ‘O’ to you.”

“Why thank you, Reg. I could ask the same of you, you know.”

“Been paying that much attention to me, have you?” Regulus cracked open an eye to gaze up at Remus, who had gone rather pink.

“You’re worse than Sirius.” He muttered, and Regulus snorted as he closed his eyes again, pleased.

“I get my wand away, if that’s what you mean.”  

“With _who_?” Remus spluttered, and Regulus winced at the volume. “Shit, sorry.”

“S’okay.” He mumbled. “And whoever I fancy, I suppose. It isn’t difficult when you’re in a castle full of hormonally-charged teenagers.”

 _Get the hint, Lupin. Please for the love of Merlin, get the fucking hint,_ Regulus chanted in his head.

“ _Whoever_ you fancy?” Remus repeated faintly, and Regulus didn’t allow himself the grin that threatened.

“Mhhm.”

“... Oh.”

If Regulus could face opening his eyes again, he would have rolled them. “Indeed. Now, do shut up Lupin. This potion won’t work if I have to keep gossiping with you.”

Remus managed to be quiet for all of two minutes before he spoke again. “What’s it… like?”

“About as you’d imagine, Lupin. _Have_ you been imagining?”

Regulus did open his eyes this time, and rested his chin on his folded arms to watch the boy opposite him. Remus, he’d decided, blushed rather a lot for a supposedly vicious killer, and was delightfully naive at times. It was jarring, and not at all like anything he’d been taught about werewolves.

Unfortunately, it was also part of what made the Gryffindor so inconveniently attractive to him. He outright refused to become another Severus Snape, pining over Evans like a lovesick puppy, but damn it if he wasn’t becoming rather... frustrated.

“Who else is…”

“Not many, sadly. I know my brother bats for both teams, if you catch my drift. Fenwick, Belby and Shacklebolt in 7th. Lockhart in my year. There are probably others, but they’re so closeted they’re likely to find the other half of the Vanishing Cabinet upstairs, rather than a decent fuck.”

Remus was redder than the Gryffindor tie he wore, and Regulus almost felt bad for embarrassing him as fully as he clearly was. _Almost_ , but not quite badly enough to stop. “What if… what if you think you like both but haven’t…”

“You can fancy anyone you like, Lupin; it doesn’t mean you have to bend them over a desk to be sure of it.”

This time, the silence stretched on and on, until Remus packed his things away for the night and disappeared from the Library without a word, still obviously flustered.

Regulus sighed and sat upright, resting his face in his hands and wondering if he hadn’t just fucked up all of his plans. Merlin, he _was_ becoming pathetic.

At least it was the summer holidays soon.

 

* * *

  **When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light** ****  
**That split the night** **  
** **And touched the sound of silence**

 

“ _Muffliato._ ” The whispered charm startled Regulus from his bleary-eyed trance, and his eyes flicked upward to meet the green ones staring at him with concern.  

“What?”

“When did you last get any sleep?” Remus asked, elegant fingers drumming on the table impatiently. Piano player’s fingers, a traitorous part of his mind added.

“I get what I need, Lupin.” He spoke, voice monotone even to his own ears. It was the only way to mask that he was in agony. His arm burned, and his heart - his soul - was smeared with a greasy stain he would never remove.

Regulus hated it and was proud in equal measure, and he loathed that even more. Loathed _himself_ for what he was allowing himself to become, day by day, death by agonising death. His parents were incalculably proud of him, enthusiastic in their support of his endeavours with the Dark Lord, but Remus?

The regret, the shame, bloomed fierce in his chest. Easter, and what he had done, would be burned into his very being forever.

“Reg…” Remus sighed, and reached out as if to touch him before he withdrew, his gaze dropping to the tightly covered arm that lay, prostrate, across the table.

“It’s fine, Lupin. It won’t hurt you, and he won’t know.”

Remus closed his eyes. “I hate it. I hate it all.”

“Well, get used to it. If you’re doing Albus’ dirty work with the wolves after summer, then you may as well have one yourself.” Regulus spoke, the words bitter and acrid against his tongue.

“I know.”

“But of course, the Dark Lord won’t Mark creatures, will he?”

“ _I know!_ ” Remus hissed through gritted teeth, green eyes now wide open and flashing amber in the dim lighting. “I don’t even _want_ the fucking Mark. It’s everything I’ve ever stood against - your brother stands against!”

Regulus blinked at the display of temper, and his heart thudded in a rapid tattoo at the implication not even subtly woven into the viciously spat words. Remus seemed to sense the line he had stepped across too, because he immediately shrank back into his chair and ran a hand through his hair, a fresh scar on his hand shining in the lamplight and a few strands of silver standing out prominently against the blond. He tried not to think about how the scar had come to be, or just how prematurely his curse might age him - _kill_ him.

“I’m sorry, Reg. It’s just… frayed nerves. NEWTs, the time of the month… everything.”

“It’s fine.” Regulus stared at his own arm, feeling _it_ writhe and burn.

“Did you, _do_ you, believe it? What he’s selling?” Remus nodded to the Mark hidden beneath his shirt.

Regulus slumped lower in his chair. “Yes - no - oh, fucking Merlin. Do I want people dead? Of course not. Do I think that Purebloods have a magical advantage? Yes, I do. I did. I don’t know! I don’t know anything. I just keep seeing their eyes. Sirius’ body in the drawing room. Their fucking _eyes_ , Remus!”

Regulus felt the tears burning only seconds before Remus had wrapped his arms around him. For a brief moment in their bubble of privacy, so close to the Restricted Section that barely anyone ever came by, he allowed himself to sob like the child he was.

For the innocence he’d lost. For the innocence, come summer, that Remus was to lose too.

 

* * *

  **And in the naked light I saw** ****  
**Ten thousand people, maybe more** ****  
**People talking without speaking** **  
** **People hearing without listening**

“It is simple.” The clipped tones of Antonin Dolohov echoed through the clearing where the last hot rays of the sun could still be seen above the masses awaiting instruction. Fine dark cloaks stood opposite ragged cloth, but all eyes turned towards the Death Eater marching between the rows.

“The man - or woman -” Dolohov leered at Bellatrix who flashed a wild, dangerous grin, “ - who stands opposite you is your… partner.” Dolohov grimaced as he spoke, dark eyes lingering on the ragtag band of werewolves stood opposite the chosen few of the Dark Lord. “Once the moon is high and full and our… friends… transform for the evening, they will be guided by _you_. You will direct them in whatever way you deem appropriate towards the village, whereupon their arrival they will wreak the havoc and enjoy the flesh that they so richly deserve.” Dolohov walked down the line, mask in hand, as he examined the pairs. He stopped when he reached Regulus, a hard look and a harder smile dancing on his face. “It is… poetic, no? I hope you enjoy your night, little Black. A gift from the Dark Lord himself.” He gestured across to the mute werewolf, and Regulus raised his eyes from the grass beneath the other boy’s feet.

Because that’s all he was, really. A boy, but months out of school.

Did his brother know? Potter? Evans? Would they be able to accept him with open arms, knowing what he would have to do?

Regulus’ eyes darted between Antonin and the partner he had been so desperately avoiding, trying so very hard not to tremble. He clasped his hands behind his back in an attempt to hide the shaking, and bowed his head. “I am thankful to our Lord for this… opportunity.”

He pulled his muscles into something that he hoped resembled a leer, and Dolohov’s eyes widened a fraction before he clapped Regulus hard on the shoulder, a barking laugh soaring up into the silence of the twilight. Two more pats that almost made him stagger landed firmly on his shoulder again before the Russian sauntered off further down the line.

As darkness fell, his jovial mood turned fierce. “Spread out. Men, keep your distance from the wolves. Wolves, know the scent of your guide - your life will be forfeit should you personally harm your handler. Go!”

Remus gestured with a sharp nod of his head toward a copse of trees behind the clearing they were stationed in. His footfalls were heavy, grass and twigs snapping and hissing underfoot. Regulus kept his distance until a dirty hand reached out and dragged him up close to Remus’ side, and a hoarse voice whispered urgently in his ear. “I’ve taken the full dose.”

Regulus’ eyes widened as he stopped dead. “ _What_ ?” He spat at the boy - man? - opposite him. “Are you out of your Godric-cursed _mind?”_

“I will not be a killer. I will _not_.” Remus swore. “Dumbledore…”

Regulus heard a sharp thud and a crack of something breaking, perhaps a branch, and threw his hand over Lupin’s mouth. “Shut up. Just shut up, for fuck’s sake! I’m not my brother, don’t go blabbing all your shitting secrets to me.” Remus’ eyes widened, the green he had always known them to be flashing amber in the gloom. “What do you plan to do?”

“Sulk around the edges. Get enough blood on me to make it look like I was involved. Return back in the middle of the pack.” Remus spoke against his hand, and then his eyes darted up towards the sky in a nervous tick. They were wide, and pleading - he didn’t want to kill. He was _begging_ Regulus not to let him kill in something less than words, but desperate all the same - and he felt his heart twist in a vise somewhere deep in his chest.

The moonrise was moments away. Seconds away, surely. Regulus felt the old swell stir in his chest - the pity, the panic, the… _more_. The more that had always lingered on the periphery, and he swallowed hard as he moved his hand away.

“I’m an animagus. Will that help?”

Remus stared at him, unblinking, and then began to laugh before screaming, his head tipping back and the small, rosebud mouth stretched open with a crack. Regulus managed to change into his form, rather than shitting himself at the sight of a fully-grown werewolf, only seconds before the transformation was complete.

As he coiled himself around the wolf’s throat, head resting upon the strangely silken fur of the creature that was still whining in the ghost of his painful transformation, Regulus made a silent promise to whatever Gods were listening that Remus Lupin would never be the cause of someone’s death. Even if he had to do the killing for him, he swore that Lupin would not know the feeling that stained his spirit. There was no choice, not really.

Once Remus had calmed, Regulus’ tongue flickered in the air, tasting the scent, finding the path in the dark. Cautiously he slid his head down the curve of the wolf’s neck to point in the direction they needed to go. Towards the taste of copper and magic, of fire and woodsmoke - of death.

His soul mattered far more to him now than Regulus’ own ever would.

 

* * *

**People writing songs that voices never share** ****  
**No one dared** **  
** **Disturb the sound of silence**

 

It was dark in the caves, and silent, but petrichor lingered in the air that had been trapped for most of the day - the only hint that it had rained at all in the early hours of the morning, now long passed.

Regulus felt along the wall, searching for the crack he knew to be there but couldn’t see, until his fingers dipped into a space that was far bigger inside than it should have been. His hand reached in, all the way to the shoulder, before he drew out a long list of names and hastily-scribbled descriptions, and potential alliances that could be formed. Scanning his eyes over it searching for new information, Regulus nodded and added two names of his own.

 

_SS - Death Eater. Knows the Dark Lord will not give him the power he seeks because of his blood heritage, but is in denial. Possible double-agent, expert at occlumency and legilimency. Prone to rash decisions._

_NM - Not a Death Eater, wife of the inner circle, well connected. Prejudiced but not hostile, disagrees with the bloodshed. ? imperius._

 

It was their list. The list of those hiding in the grey areas, the shadow but not the dark. The ones who had spoken their doubts in hushed whispers, in fleeting glances, in unthinking actions. It was a wing and a prayer that could be taken to Dumbledore to act on, along with his other firebirds, to help topple a regime that would get them all killed in the end.

Regulus had seen too much killing since his Marking in April, only five months before.

From his bag, he withdrew a list of places and dates, and shoved them deep into the crack in the wall. Attacks he knew of, ones he was expected to take part in, and ones he had only heard quiet mention of that might be false leads, but that he couldn’t chance not sharing.

If the Dark Lord found out about it, he was a dead man. Luckily, his final year at Hogwarts meant that he was kept safe from the intrusions of the mind so many others whispered of in tortured, stolen moments.

The rolling of stone made his hand freeze, and he hissed in a breath. “Who’s there?”

“Reg?” An exhausted voice called into the dark, and Regulus let out the breath he was holding.

“Lupin, for fuck’s sake!”

Regulus lit the cave quickly with floating lights, his wand flicking and dancing in the blue-tinged glow they emitted. Remus looked…

“What happened to _you_?” Regulus cursed, squashing down his panic and shoved his hand back into the crack in the wall. He rustled about before he drew out a vial of dittany and a pain-relieving potion.

“Went to James and Lily’s wedding. Greyback found out, didn’t he?” Remus grunted, catching the potion vial as it was flung at him, and hissed as a dittany dripped across the gouge Greyback had so kindly left over his nose. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Savaged by a werewolf, yet thinks dittany hurts.” Regulus rolled his eyes, and held the man’s face still as he examined his work carefully - purposefully ignoring the coarse stubble that grazed his palm like the promise of a kiss. “Lords and Ladies, I present to you: Remus Lupin.”

“You’re not funny, Reg.”

“I’m the epitome of wit.” He countered, and then sat back - reluctantly releasing his hold on Remus’ jaw. Still… his fingers danced along the skin just a little too long to be innocent, and he could see the sudden rise of the man’s chest as a breath skittered through clenched teeth.

“We should… I was thinking… blood wards.” Remus stuttered, the inevitable glow of his cheeks hidden by the slick of blood that still remained, and he gestured hesitantly around the cave. Regulus blinked and raised his eyebrows, part amused, part surprised.

“That’s downright Slytherin of you, Lupin. And one might even say… a bit grey.”

“Intent is everything.” Remus stared at him, his focus intense, and Regulus grinned, almost feral, before leaning close to Remus’ ear - allowing his lips to brush, just a little, against the sensitive skin.

“Indeed it is, Lupin. Indeed it is.”

He could feel Remus’ breath dance across skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder, where it blossomed in a patch of damp heat. It would be so _easy_. So very easy.

Regulus turned his head just enough to rake his teeth down Remus’ neck, and then he _bit_.

“Oh, fu-u-ck.” Remus’ head tilted back, releasing a tortured moan when Regulus darted his tongue out to taste the spot he’d marked with his teeth.

Then the world tilted sideways, and he was on the floor of the cave and Remus was hovering above him, thighs straddling his hips, slick palms pinning his wrists above his head, eyes alight with the fire of the moon that was to come in only a few days.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, little Reggie.” Remus leaned over him, and his eyes rolled back when the man returned the gesture Regulus had gladly offered. “An almost… Gryffindor game, one might say.”

“Go… fuck yourself.” Regulus bit out between the hiss drawn from his lips when Remus swirled patterns up his neck with a tongue that was far more experienced in this particular form of sweet torture than Regulus had expected.

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.” Remus’ rich baritone rumbled as his mouth traced along his jaw, and as his hips shifted slightly it became abundantly clear to Regulus that this was certainly very much wanted by the man above him. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Regulus wasn’t sure who moved first; perhaps it was both of them, finally caving to years of dancing and sarcastic flirting and so, so much frustration. But still, Remus’ lips were on his own, hard and insistent, teeth capturing and tongue demanding.

It was something like sanctuary on their shared road to hell.

 

* * *

**"Fools" said I, "You do not know** ****  
**Silence like a cancer grows** ****  
**Hear my words that I might teach you** ****  
**Take my arms that I might reach you,"** ****  
**But my words like silent raindrops fell** **  
** **And echoed in the wells of silence**

“I can’t… do this... anymore.” Remus whispered, hoarse and broken, in the cave that had become their warded sanctuary. The crack of apparition, the sliding of the blood-wards against Regulus’ skin letting him know of Remus’ arrival, gave him enough warning to stand and prepare before the wizard staggered in, bloodied and raw.

“You can, Lupin  - _Remus_ . You have to keep going.” Regulus caught the man before he collapsed to the floor, knees unable to hold him up any longer as he finally spotted the dark liquid seeping through fingers that were clamped to his waist. “Fuck. _Fuck_ , you’re going to bleed out.” He muttered, panic flaring as he lowered them both to the ground, stroking the matted hair away from Remus’ face.

“M’fine.” Remus slurred, the deep gouge at his side spilling blood in gentle pulses across his lap, and his sticky fingers reached up to stroke Regulus’ jaw - leaving a damning streak in their wake.

He didn’t care. Not for one moment did the thought of the cursed, _impure_ blood that stained his robes, his clothes, his very skin, cross his mind. All he cared about was the minutes he had left to save the man’s life; the watch now oozing red from his wrist, ticking an ominous beat.

“Liar.” Regulus muttered fondly as he hauled up the threadbare shirt Remus wore and ran his wand over the wound, watching as the bleeding slowed. “Open your mouth. You need to take these, stay still.” He summoned vial after vial of potion, pouring them down Remus’ throat and forcing him to swallow until something like colour returned to his cheeks, and his pulse felt steady and surer than it had when he staggered in to the cave.

“Thanks.” Remus mumbled sleepily, turning his eyes up to Regulus’ face above him. “Love… Reg…”

Regulus watched as he fell into a deep slumber, sooty eyelashes tipped in gold fluttering and laying heavily on his cheek. He let out a dry sob, and pressed lips that were cold and quivering to the sweaty forehead of the wizard in his arms.

“I wish you did, Remus. Oh Merlin, I wish you did.” He whispered into the heated skin, resting their foreheads together, simply breathing. Watching as Remus’ breaths became steadier, stronger, fuller.  

He felt the brush of lashes against his skin, and lifted his head just enough to see Remus’ expression, clearer than it had been an hour before. His lips, still pale from blood loss and shock, formed words that he was too exhausted to say but for a broken whisper.

“Sorry I… wasn’t up to… a proper greeting.” His lips twisted into a grimace and he turned to cough, a constellation of red decorating his palm.

“I’ll add it to your ledger, Lupin, so long as you promise me you won’t come back to me in that state ever again.”

Remus only smiled, reaching up to pull Regulus into a kiss - but he saw the dimming light in his eyes before the lashes drifted closed and he gave himself into the sensation of mouth against mouth. Because both of them knew, really, that there could be no promises made in this war. Not even the promise to live.

Before they could go any further and begin the tender undressing of their bodies and souls, Regulus gasped and threw his head back in a cry, caught unprepared for the burning. His eyes screwed closed, lined with the involuntary reflex of tears, and Remus pressed his lips to the covered Mark - offering what little support he could as Regulus fought to regain his composure.

“Stay safe.”

Regulus offered the same mockery of a smile he’d seen Remus give before he helped him to sit upright, rubbing his hands up and down the man’s back until his coughing fit ceased. Then he stood and walked to the mouth of the hidden cave, turning back to watch as Remus hauled himself up by the wall. Regulus felt the slight scouring of something firm against his skin, his robes, his cheek, and offered a grateful smile at the werewolf  as he cast silent _tergeo_ after silent _tergeo_ until not a hint of the blood he’d been decorated in remained.

“I’ll be back.” Regulus swore, and Remus nodded before he turned his back on the man he loved enough to kill for, to turn against all he’d believed in for. Regulus paused for a moment, hands trembling, before he spoke - utterly still, unable to look at the man who was about to hear his darkest confession. “Remus?”

“Mm?” Remus said, taking cautious footsteps towards him. Regulus couldn’t make himself turn around to face the man, instead staring out into the forest that lay beyond the cave.

“Just in case I don’t… I don’t make it. I… I mean, you must know.  I love…”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and Remus’ mouth pressed against the back of his neck where the waves of his hair parted.

“I know.” He murmured, and Regulus allowed the rush of elation to flood him before he grasped Remus’ hand in a firm squeeze,  only letting go when he could wait no longer. With a crack, he disappeared into the night at the beckoning of his master.

“My Lord.” Regulus bowed his head as his feet landed on the wooden floorboards of the room, not even looking around to assess his location. Instead, he prepared himself for whatever it was that Lord Voldemort would ask of him, and pushed any thoughts to do with Remus Lupin, and love, as deeply into his mind as he possibly could.

“Welcome, young Black,” Lord Voldemort spoke, his voice smooth and cultured. “I have need of your elf.”

“Of course, my Lord. Kreacher!” He called, and the little pop that signalled his arrival was almost instantaneous. “Kreacher, bow to your Lord.”

Kreacher did so, a deep sweeping bend that was so low his nose touched the ground, and the Dark Lord chuckled. “Very good, very good. You can expect our return in a few hours, Black. Remain here.”

“My Lord.” He agreed, and straightened his neck as the crack of apparition echoed ominously around the room. “What the fuck?” He whispered - repeated it again and again - and he sat down in his own drawing-room chair to wait.

 

* * *

  **And the people bowed and prayed** ****  
**To the neon god they made,** ****  
**And the sign flashed out its warning** **  
** **In the words that it was forming.**  

 

 

 

> _Remus,_  
>  _When you receive this letter, I’ll be on my way to finish my part in this war, for better or for worse. I hope you don’t think too badly of me for going off half-cocked, but in this instance time truly is of the essence._  
>  _How very Gryffindorish of me, wouldn’t you say? I can see you scoffing in my mind. You don’t believe that I would do anything foolish and without calculation - but aside from some very flimsy ideas I shall be playing rather fast and loose on this occasion._  
>  _It has been you, and you alone, that has guided me through the darkness I traverse. We are twin souls, you and I. I hope that in another lifetime we are able to have the life of freedom, joy, and peace that we so richly deserve - and that we live it together. One where we are not tainted by the dark, have it hunting us for the rest of our lives; one where we can have everything we desire and not fear what those around us might do, feel, or think._  
>  _I know that this is vague - it is purposeful, and meant to offer protection. But I have a mission of my own to pursue in order to help end this reign of terror that we face, and it is one that I doubt I shall come back from. If I do, I will be so much changed that I would not wish to inflict myself on you._  
>  _I know that Potter and his wife are expecting a child. Remus, protect that child. With everything you have, keep them safe from harm. We need good in the world, and I believe our future generations will bring it. We are already doomed to repeat the mistakes of our fathers, but they do not have to. They can be better than we are - they must be.  
>       You still have your chance to live a life full of wonder, full of the love that you have shown me that I have never deserved. You have been a flame to me, burning bright and warming me.  Perhaps we were born of desperation and of fear, and of a need to take solace and comfort wherever it could be discovered. Yet it has grown in me, even sustained me, enough to make the decision that lies before me._  
>    _It is unlikely I will see the morning. I will certainly never see my eighteenth year, for if by some miracle of Merlin I live tonight, I will surely be hunted by the Dark Lord and his followers to my torture and death - I’m not a good enough occlumens to hide this. Yet I am content, knowing that I am playing my part to make this world a better place than I might otherwise have, on a different path. Still… I would have you pray for me. That I complete my task, and that I find peace in whatever comes after._
> 
> _I claim you as mine, Remus Lupin, scars and all.  For I am yours, always._
> 
> _Reg_

 

_“Come, Kreacher,” Regulus whispers into the night, and the wizened elf appears before him with the faintest of pops as he folds the parchment carefully in a neat, sealed rectangle._

_“Master calls Kreacher?” The elf speaks quietly, as if sensing his mood. Regulus realises that of course it is fitting that the elf that has been his so loyally would be the one to walk him to his ultimate fate._

_He would never wish it on Remus. He who has already seen so much loss._

_“I need you to send this letter for me, and have it delivered personally to the wizard addressed on the front. He should be with Greyback’s pack in the New Forest - they’re there until the full moon.” Regulus glances out the window at the sliver of blackness that prevents the moon from forcing them to change into the beasts of the dark that they become._

_Three days. Three solitary days before December’s moon will wrap them in its embrace._

_He hopes that Remus might find some peace in it, for once in his life._

_“And then,” Regulus mutters, “I need you to take me to the place that the Dark Lord took you. Do you remember, Kreacher?”_

_“Kreacher never forgets. Never.” The little elf shudders, and Regulus wraps an arm about his narrow, shaking frame. It is as much for his comfort as the elf’s, he knows, but still the touch is grounding and assuring._

_“I will never ask you to do what he did. But I will need you to take me to that island you told me of, and then as soon as I give you the artefact, I will tell you to leave. You must do as I say, do you understand? You must go, Kreacher, and never return. Even if that means you leave me to whatever fate I find. Will you do that? Will you promise, on your loyalty to the House of Black?”_

_Kreacher stares at him, with lamp-like eyes wide and lip tremulous before he nods. “Kreacher promises,” he whispers into the night._

_“And will you promise to never reveal to any member of the House of Black, or the servants of the Dark Lord, what we will do? What we will have done? It is the only way to keep our family safe from that mad-man.”_

_Kreacher gulps, but nods. “Kreacher promises, Master Regulus. His secrets will be safe with Kreacher.”_

_“You are the very best house elf, Kreacher. I do not deserve you.”_

_“Master Regulus is a good Master. He cares for Kreacher, and so Kreacher will care for Master Regulus.”  With the letter in his grasp, he pops away from the room; the only other noise the slow-running tap continuing to fill the bath at his back._

_Regulus wishes he could drown in it._

_Instead, he stands, bones aching with a cold that has seeped into them in the short while he has been sat on the floor, writing his last goodbye. The only one that really matters._

_He turns off the tap, the bath almost overflowing now. His fingers create ripples in the icy water as he touches the surface lightly._

Ripples.

_Standing tall, Regulus nods to himself firmly, and places his hand over his robe pocket where the note to his own master is penned, biting and cruel. He is entirely finished with playing court to self-made princes and men pretending to be gods._

_He might not be able to end this war - hell, he won’t even see his eighteenth birthday - but he hopes that he can, in his own way, help others end the Dark Lord._

_His own redemption, for all that he has done._

 

* * *

**And the sign said, "The words of the prophets  
** **Are written on the subway walls  
** **And tenement halls"  
** **And whispered in the sounds of silence.**

_The potion burns as it goes down. But it is what he sees that makes him vomit, and only the elf by his side, dutifully passing another goblet of the foul liquid, can force him to gulp down more._

_Kreacher lies to Regulus. He tells him that it is water to quench the burning that is in the pit of his stomach, his lungs. The more Regulus drinks the more the burning spreads... the more he relives his nightmares._

_The body of his brother, lifeless on the drawing-room carpet at only 16 years old, unable to defend himself against those who should have protected him as Regulus himself is shoved from the room._

_His Marking._

_Remus begging him with his eyes not to allow him to become a murderer on the first full moon he had been forced to witness Greyback’s pack endure. To direct the wolves to muggle villages._

Remus.

_It’s the only word in his mind he recognises as something good and pure and he clings to it, desperate and hopeless; flooded with pain from head to toe and his soul drowning somewhere deep inside of him. With a jolting hand that isn’t his own, he scoops the delicately filigreed and enamelled locket from the bowl and casts it to the floor when the oozing dark magic within it makes his Mark burn and writhe under his skin - sickening still, even as it falls from his fingers._

_Regulus wants to die. It is all he can think about as he throws the goblet on the floor and collapses to his knees beside Kreacher._

_“Wa..ter…” He wheezes._

_“Master Regulus has done it. He is a good Master, such a wonderful Master. He must makes the locket. He must puts it there. Then he can haves all the water he wants to drink, yes he can.”_

_The crackling voice of the stooped elf  and the hand patting his shoulder makes him move, and he crawls to the edge of the still lake searching for a smooth pebble to suit his needs. He weighs a particularly obsidian one in his palm, and his fingers twitch around him as a burning convulsion wracks his muscles._

_He has one last task before he can leave the darkness of the world he has immersed himself in. One last promise to make to a man who may never hear it invoked - because Regulus certainly won’t be going back to him._

_The stone winks at him in the dim light of the cave. Transfiguration is always his best subject, after all, even though Slughorn wishes it was potions. He takes after his brother in that way._

_Regulus can barely move, barely think as he transfigures the rock from the shore into as close a replica as he can of the locket he means to steal, and he slips the note inside before sealing his spellwork._

_“Into the… basin… Kreacher!” Regulus calls with a rasping voice to the elf, launching the locket he has made to Kreacher who drops the real Horcrux in favour of the fake one, and reaches up to throw the locket into the basin. Hearing the tinkling clink of metal against stone, relief floods him. His elf has scooped up the Horcrux, the real one, and he holds it tightly with fear in his eyes. Begging him to move in unspoken tones, to move away - as if he knows what is to come. The little elf will not come near the water._

_The burning thirst hits him again. His mission complete, the fierce adrenaline that ravaged him just enough to create the locket has now left him drained of all but the flimsiest scraps of his magic. His body is burning in a way that he has experienced before - after too many punishments at the wand-tip of his cousin Bella and her demented husband._

_He stares at the water as he captures his reflection in the ripples his movement has caused, entranced. He looks gaunt. Ill. Dying._

_And he is so_ thirsty.

_Regulus reaches a hand out towards the water, his movements not his own. To cup, scoop and drink._

“Master must not touch the water!” _Kreacher’s shrill voice tears through him, and he jerks his hand away with less than an inch of clear air between his fingertips and the water’s surface._

_He sees ripples, and a single drop of water falls from his damp skin._

_Below it, something moves. Something dark and absolutely dangerous - of that, Regulus has no doubt. The Dark Lord might be a bastard but he is no fool, and he is powerful. As he tries to scramble up the bank, clawing at the loose pebbles with seizing muscles, more and more of the little sones fall into the glassy surface of the lake. He can barely move. He tries to drag himself, but his body won’t obey him._

_And Kreacher stares, trembling, mouth agog. But he will not come any closer, despite his outreached hand - and Regulus cannot find fault in him._

_Now the water ripples and bubbles before him like a kettle on a hob. He digs his burning fingers into tumbling rock to try and haul himself backwards toward the pedestal where that demonic potion hid the Horcrux; but a clawed hand shoots upward in a splash, followed by the misshapen, bloated body attached to it. Without pause, the black mouth opens, and it screams in such a pitch that hairs dance on the back of his neck and fear spikes down his spine._

Inferi.

_Regulus raises his wand before him with a hand that still doesn’t feel like his own, and a circle of fire engulfs him as his joints creak and groan when he finally rests upright on his knees. Beyond the roar he can hear the shrieks of the awoken dead._

_“Go.... Kreacher! DESTROY IT!” Regulus screams at the elf, whose little hand is reaching out for him through the fire even as the inferi swarm the island; battling against the swathes of flames he has cast._

_He pities whoever the Dark Lord will use to drink it the next time he wishes to check it… or use it._

_“Master....” He wails, chain wrapped around his fist._

_“Go! GO! You... promised... Kreacher! You cannot save me... from this….and I do not want to be saved!”_

_His voice is becoming hoarse and ever drier, his wand-arm shaking so violently the flames he has conjured are dancing high and low, allowing brief moments of space for the inferi to scuttle through. In the gaps between the flickering fire and the inferi surrounding it, an impenetrable wall of death, Regulus can see that Kreacher’s eyes are squeezed tightly closed. His little body is trembling once more as he raises his free hand and, in a gesture that appears to be destroying him, snaps his fingers._

_He is gone. Regulus’ magic flares and dies, wand clattering to the floor, and the bodies come. He can’t stop them, and he has nothing left in him to transform even wanted to try and save himself. The reek burns his nose, the ghoulish bodies and screeching invade his senses._

_He closes his eyes, and unbidden behind his lids the olive-green gaze of the man he has come to love more than his own life captures his mind and traps him there. They flash amber in a promise, and a smile dances across his lips._

_And then clawed hands and teeth sink into his skin, ripping and tearing as they drag him towards the water’s edge, and his mouth opens in a silent scream._

 

 

 

 


End file.
